


Bind

by morganoconner



Series: Collared [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Bonding, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Collared 'verse outtake set at the end of Chapter 6.  Dean gives himself over to the one being who has never let him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bind

Dean's not nervous. He’s lying on the bed with his head propped on his arms as he stares unseeingly at the television, wondering where the hell Castiel is. His foot is twitching spastically, and he’s having trouble catching a full breath when he finds himself thinking too much.

But he’s not nervous. Not at all.

…Yeah, right.

He closes his eyes and shifts, tries to get comfortable, but it’s not the bed that’s the problem, it’s his own skin, which feels too tight and too buzzing and too _everything_. He alternately wishes Castiel would hurry up and get back from wherever the hell it is he’s disappeared to, or that he would call and say he won’t be back for a few days.

Dean’s made his decision, and he knows it’s the right one, but that doesn’t make him any calmer about it.

Inside his head is deafening because he can’t shut his brain off, Castiel’s words and Sam’s words ringing in his ears simultaneously, creating a cacophony of noise that has him ready to start beating his forehead against the wall. He’s willing to bet he’ll stop hearing them so loudly if he’s unconscious.

One bit of conversation in particular keeps repeating in his mind over and over, an endless loop of confusion and hurt and _hope_ , and it’s that, more than anything, that he wishes he could tune out, because it’s making all of this so much more difficult, somehow.

He hears his own voice, loud, angry. _I just don’t get why you never wanted me to find out about this. I mean, did you think I wouldn’t understand? You saved my life, dragged me out of **Hell** , there’s a lot I’m willing to forgive you for at this point._

And Castiel’s reply as he stared directly at Dean, somber and serious as always. _I did not want to force the implications of this bond on one whom I love so deeply._

His own shocked silence, before he’d turned in a rage, picking up a vase from the bedside table and hurling it against the far wall. His eyes closing for a moment as fury settled deep inside him and he finally spun back, his eyes glinting dangerously. _You **what**?_

 _I love you, Dean Winchester. I have loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on your soul, and I will continue to do so long after you pass from this world to the next._ The angel’s quiet pause, his eyes sliding to the ground before closing as he released a soft breath. _I never meant for you to find out, not like this. I’m sorry._

His yell as he processed that, his hands clenched tightly into fists. _Dammit, Cas, were you **ever** gonna tell me?_

_I don’t know. I had hoped to…after the Apocalypse was averted and you were truly free to live your life._

_Yeah, well, that’s not really good enough now, is it?_ Castiel’s hand reaching out, grazing his arm, and his own subsequent violent jerk. _Don’t **touch** me! I’m going out. Don’t you fucking follow me._ The slam of the door behind him as he’d left his angel behind so he could think through what all of this meant.

He’d gone to Sam after that, Sam who’s already living through being bound to an angel of his own, who understands what the sliver of grace embedded in Dean’s soul means…the grace he hadn’t even known was there until today. Sam, who’s always pretty damn good at putting things in perspective.

Somehow, he’d left Sam’s room somehow feeling more weighed down than when he’d entered it, but at least his head had been clearer. He knew what he wanted, knew that, despite what it would mean, he was going to complete the bond.

Now, he just wants it over and done with. Which would be well and good, except that Castiel still hasn’t come back. And he’s getting impatient. Well, _more_ impatient.

Damn it.

He stares up at the ceiling for as long as he can stand it, and is just swinging his legs out of the bed to try and walk off some of the restless energy swirling inside of him when he hears the unmistakable sound of wingbeats. Suddenly, Castiel is standing right in front of him, looking as unruffled as ever as he tilts his head and gazes down at Dean.

“Cas, _there_ you are, you son of a bitch,” Dean says, jaw tight.

“I…did not expect you to be here,” Castiel admits.

Dean can’t decide whether he wants to stand or move back onto the mattress, so in the end, he stays where he is, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at Castiel. “I left for a while,” he says. “After I went driving, I talked to Sam.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He uh…he managed to help me wrap my head around some stuff.” Dean decides there’s no time like the present, and considering how eager he was for Castiel to get back here, there’s really no reason to put it off. “I want to do it, Cas.”

The angel stills, his eyes widening impossibly. “You…what?”

“You heard me,” Dean says, and now he does stand, almost toe-to-toe with Castiel, every conversation they’ve ever had about personal space running through his head in an instant. “I want to do it. I thought about it, and it makes the most sense.”

Castiel swallows, backs up a step. Dean follows him with a small step forward. “Dean, you don’t understand what you’re asking. You’re talking about turning a very mild bond of grace into a much more permanent and life-altering one of grace and _blood_. A bond where I will _own_ you. You cannot possibly want that.”

“There are a lot of things in this world I don’t want, Cas. Your dick brothers kidnapping me and forcing me to say yes to Michael, for example. Or the _end_ of the world, that’d be nice to avoid. The armies of Heaven and Hell hunting me and my brother, even. You know what I _don’t_ have a problem with?”

“What?” Castiel asks, voice raspier than normal.

“Being stuck with you for the rest of eternity.” And Dean’s hand darts out lightning quick, wrapping around Castiel’s waist and bringing him flush against him. He leans down and swallows Castiel’s protests with his mouth on the angel’s, enjoying the moan he draws out of him as he licks his way inside.

One of Castiel’s hands slides up his chest, coming to rest against his heart, the warmth going straight through Dean’s shirt and seeping into his bones. Into his _soul_ , it sort of feels like, and that serves as a good reminder for what they’re supposed to be doing here, but he’s having trouble getting himself to pull back, especially when Castiel’s other hand brushes against his arm, drifts under the sleeve of his t-shirt, and slots against the handprint seared into the flesh.

His vision goes white, and heat flows from Castiel’s fingertips into him. Everything Castiel is feeling in this moment is instantly crystal clear to him, easier to read than his _own_ feelings, and he knows that Castiel is getting feedback on him as well, because the angel lets out a gasp that sounds like a sob.

He pulls back a little, needing to catch his breath, and runs a hand up Castiel’s back and into his hair, letting the strands run through his fingers as he presses his forehead against the angel’s. “So we should really do this now,” he says, his voice low.

Castiel blinks, his eyes dark and unfocused. “What…” He stops, swallows again. “Dean, why…”

Dean reaches around him and with deft fingers, chooses a blade from the pile of weapons in the duffle. He presses it into Castiel’s hand, tilts his head up with a gentle finger so that he meets Dean’s eyes. “I know what I want, Cas. You said you wouldn’t say no if this was what I chose.”

Castiel stares at the knife for a long moment, and then sets it aside with almost reverent care before turning back to Dean. “If you’re sure that this is what you want, then I’ll do it, as I said. But please, Dean, be _sure_.”

“Cas,” Dean says, his hand trailing along the angel’s cheek. Something wild and piercing thrums through him as Castiel’s eyes close and he leans into the touch. “I don’t think I could be more sure if I tried.”

“All right,” the angel says with a soft sigh. “All right, but first…”

Dean raises an eyebrow as Castiel’s eyes open and zero in on him. The intensity of the gaze almost forces him back a step. “First?” he asks, his voice a little gravelly.

“I want you, Dean.” Castiel is trembling just a little, Dean notices for the first time, even as his heart is trying to pound its way out of his chest. “I want you without the added compulsion of the blood bond, I want to _know_ without doubt that _you_ want _me_. Please.”

As though Dean could possibly say no. As though he hasn’t been wishing for this exact thing since he came to terms with his feelings for the angel. As though he wouldn’t give anything Castiel asked from him, without question or thought, the same as he would do for Sammy. His voice won’t work to form the answer the angel seeks, so he uses actions instead, sliding his hands to the lapels of the trench coat and sliding it off slowly, then doing the same with the jacket.

Castiel, his blue eyes wide, lets them fall to the floor, and then _surges_ into Dean, his hands everywhere, trailing over Dean’s body and under his t-shirt, pulling and grasping and sliding and pinching, while his lips slot against the hunter’s and he tries to devour him with warm, hungry kisses. Dean _swears_ he remembers Castiel telling him that he’s never done this before, but he’s having trouble believing it, because he’s already practically mindless with pleasure, and the angel hasn’t even touched him where it counts yet.

His fingers work frantically at the buttons of Castiel’s shirt, and when he finally gets it off and can begin mapping out the planes of Castiel’s body with his hands, it feels like a reward. The angel grasps at the hem of his t-shirt and manages to get it off of him with minimal pulling away, and then suddenly they’re pressed chest-to-chest, and the feeling is like rapture. Castiel tilts his head back on a moan, and Dean attacks his neck with suckling kisses that leave marks he knows will vanish within minutes. “Dean…” the angel murmurs.

“Shh.” The hunter presses a finger to Castiel’s lips. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers. At the look of utter trust Castiel graces him with, he swallows hard and vows that he’s going to make this as amazing for them both as he can. He works to remove his pants as quickly as possible, and then moves to divest Castiel of his, undoing the belt with dexterous fingers and pushing them down over his hips, revealing more skin with every inch. He helps Castiel step out of them, and then turns them around, pushing him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress.

Castiel allows Dean to push him down onto the bed, makes a needy little sound in his throat when the hunter crawls over him to press biting, insistent kisses along his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his mouth. He opens when Dean licks along his lips begging entrance, and his tongue twines with Dean’s. The hunter rolls his hips, and the hard lengths of their cocks line up and rub together through their boxers. It's enough to send Dean into an impatient frenzy, and despite his promise to himself to try and take this slow, he’s not sure either he or Castiel has it in them. He removes his boxers and has Castiel lift his hips enough to be able to get rid of his as well, and finally, _finally_ , there are no barriers between them.

Dean groans at that first contact, precome already making them slick as they grind against each other.

“Dean,” Castiel gasps. “I can’t…please, I need…”

“I know,” Dean says, because he feels exactly the same. He reaches over, fumbles for the lube he put on the table so it would be close to hand. Tries not to think of how nervous he’d been when he’d cautiously planned this. He takes a breath as he opens it and slicks his fingers, aware of how long it’s been since he did anything like this. Castiel is watching him, his gaze intent as Dean sits up so that he’s straddling the angel, then dark as Dean slowly begins preparing himself.

The first finger goes in all right, a smooth glide. The second burns a little, and Dean shifts, using his other hand to stroke himself back to full hardness, watching as Castiel’s breath hitches and his eyes go wild and smoky. The third full-on hurts for a long moment, but then Dean twists his wrist, and he finds the spot he was looking for. He cries out, bucking into his own hand, and Castiel loses his patience and grabs Dean’s hips as he arches up into him.

“Okay, okay,” Dean soothes, pulling out, leaning down to press his lips to the angel’s. “Ready?”

“ _Now_ , Dean, _please!_ ” And that’s a yes if he ever heard one. He takes hold of Castiel’s cock and lifts himself up on his knees, positioning himself over that wonderful, aching hardness. When he sinks down onto it, he feels Castiel shaking and runs his hands over his chest to soothe him.

“You okay?” he asks, a little breathless, when he’s full seated again.

The angel whimpers. “Dean. Oh, Dean, I don’t…” His eyes are wide and unfocused, and he seems almost mindless with the intensity of everything he’s feeling. Dean can relate.

When Castiel finally whispers, “ _Move_ ,” all he can do is obey. He lifts up and sinks back down slowly, creating a rhythm for Castiel to follow, and he does, thrusting up to meet Dean every time. Dean clenches around him and shifts, and on the next thrust, Castiel hits just right, and stars spark behind his eyes as he shudders. The angel’s hand reaches out, long fingers taking his cock and pumping him, slow at first, then faster as everything begins to spiral. Dean feels the moment when Castiel is right there on the brink, and he moves faster, clenches tighter. With a final cry, Castiel comes blindingly into his ass, but even as he’s trembling through what _must_ be his first orgasm, he never loses focus on his task, and Dean continues pumping into his fist until finally, he follows Castiel over the edge. His head is thrown back and he moans brokenly, white streaks of come painting Castiel’s chest and stomach.

When it’s finally over, Dean pulls off slowly and collapses onto the angel in a boneless heap. He presses his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder, breathing harshly as Castiel shakes beneath him. He doesn’t think there are words for what he’s feeling right now, but he knows that Castiel already knows. Castiel _always_ knows. Dean is an open book to him, and somewhere along the way, he’s stopped minding so much.

His hand traces over Castiel’s face, and he lifts his head enough to gaze down into unearthly blue eyes. He wants to make some sort of quip, wants to say, “So, you think you can handle that for the rest of eternity?” or, “Did I promise you I’d take care of you or what?” But now is not the time for his normal cockiness or wisecrack humor, now is the time for honesty, and what’s honest is so much more pure than anything in his past has ever been.

In the end, all he can say is, “I love you,” and watch as Castiel’s eyes light up and he pulls Dean down into a soul-searing kiss. “So are we ready to do this?” he asks when he pulls back a moment later.

Castiel reaches over and plucks up the knife from the bedside table. He stares at it for a long time, running a finger lightly over the blade. “This will stop you from being able to become a vessel for Michael,” he says in a low voice. “But I’m not sure if you’ve truly considered the consequences of doing it.” He looks up at Dean again. “This can never be reversed, Dean. You’ll be bound to me forever, compelled to obey me in all things. And while I would sooner die than abuse that, it will always be there.”

“If you ask me if I’m sure again, I’m gonna have to hurt you,” Dean says. “I get it, I know what it means, and I’m not changin’ my mind.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “Just…promise me one thing?”

Castiel tilts his head curiously. “Anything it is within my power to promise is yours. You know that.”

Dean’s gaze is soft for a moment before it turns a little uncomfortable. “Don’t put a goddamn collar on me or anything?” he requests, thinking of his brother and Gabriel. “Seriously, I’m happy they’re happy and everything, but…no thank you.”

Castiel’s mouth tilts up a fraction, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve already marked you. I don’t need an accessory to prove that you belong to me.”

And, yeah, Dean’s a little freaked that he finds that as hot as he does, but with everything else in his life, he figures he can let it go. He swallows, manages a nod. “Then let’s do it.”

Castiel doesn’t slice his skin open himself. Instead, he hands the blade to Dean, his eyes trusting. Dean takes it with a hand that doesn’t shake, and keeps his eyes on Castiel’s as he slices a shallow cut on the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. “Deeper,” Castiel says. “You’ll need more than that. Stop being afraid of hurting me.”

Dean’s eyes close briefly, and he lets out a shaky breath. He cuts deeper and stares at the blood as it runs down Castiel’s pale skin.

“Take it,” the angel demands.

He leans down, hesitates, and then licks tentatively at the wound, unable to believe he’s really doing this. And then he can’t think at all, because the moment he swallows that first drop, everything goes bright and powerful and intense, the blood a potent drug to his body, to his _soul_ , and he suddenly needs more. He latches on, sucks deeply at the cut, moans as the blood courses through him, burning away everything that makes him who he was and recreating him into the Dean Winchester who belongs to Castiel, heart and body and soul. The angel tilts his head and trembles as he holds Dean steady above him, his hands latched to Dean’s sides.

Despite everything they have only recently done, both Dean and Castiel are already hard and leaking again, and as Dean continues taking and taking and _taking_ , he grinds down into the angel, makes a noise that sounds barely human at the ecstasy the contact sparks, different now than it was only minutes ago. Less about sex and more about _connection_. Castiel moans something that might be his name, but there’s a rushing sound in his ears that makes it impossible to know for sure. Inside him, everything is white-hot, and he doesn’t know how much more he can handle, but he _can’t stop_ taking more.

He can feel Castiel inside him, feel his essence as it surges through him, feel his hope and his faith and his need and his _love_ , and for the first time, Dean feels like he is whole. He lifts his mouth away from the angel’s skin with a gasp when he can’t possibly take anymore, and for a long moment, all he’s aware of is the rapture that spreads through his entire being. Castiel is writhing beneath him, arching up into Dean, rolling his hips and making incoherent noises that are leaving the hunter breathless.

The world goes white, light pouring into and over and through them both, and Castiel cries out, his spine arching impossibly as he is bathed in a glow of holy brilliance.

It’s over almost as soon as it begins, the radiance fading, seeping into Castiel until it’s as though it was never there.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the world begins to regain some focus. Dean isn’t sure when he released again, can’t remember much besides blinding ecstasy that started with that first drop of blood, but he’s spent and sticky, more so than he already was to begin with, and a bone-deep exhaustion is beginning to take over. When he blinks and meets Castiel’s eyes, he finds that the angel is wearing a languid smile as he strokes Dean’s arm. He reaches up and tugs the hunter down into his side, and Dean curls in with a sigh.

“It’s done,” Castiel murmurs.

“I feel… Jesus, there’s so _much_ , Cas,” Dean says. “I don’t know what I expected, but this is…”

“I know.” Castiel turns and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead as he wraps an arm around him. “You don’t regret it?”

“No,” Dean says firmly. “And I’m not going to, so I don’t want to hear you ask that again. You should know. You should _feel_ it.”

“I do,” Castiel whispers. “I just can’t understand how I was so blessed as to be given this.”

Dean’s eyes close and he nuzzles deeper into his angel. “Maybe the man upstairs just likes you,” he says, and just like that, Castiel’s dwindling faith is restored.

“Perhaps.” He sounds so hopeful it’s almost heartbreaking, but he’s smiling, bright and warm and joyful. “Dean,” he says, and his tone makes the hunter blink his eyes open and look questioningly at him. “My grace has been restored to me. The bond brought it back, cemented it. I’m no longer fated to Fall.”

And that…that means that Dean’s off-the-cuff remark about God maybe isn’t all that inaccurate after all. His eyes are wide as they search Castiel’s, and the angel nods to everything he’s thinking. “We’re going to win this thing,” he breathes.

“Yes, Dean. We truly are.”


End file.
